


Metamorphosis

by Saucery



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Angst, Betrayal, Break the Cutie, Butler, Character Development, Character Study, Child Abuse, Competition, Corruption, Dark, Demons, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Epiphany, First Time, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Hurt, Innocence Lost, M/M, Master/Servant, Mental Abuse, Mentors, Metamorphosis, Mindfuck, Predator/Prey, Psychological Torture, Seduction, Self-Deceit, Sexual Abuse, Statutory Rape, Tainted Love, The Better to Eat You With, The Sex Has Made Me Stupid, Tragedy, Training, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel becomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Reader discretion is strongly advised. May contain triggering material.

* * *

**_.embryo._ **

This is how it begins.

A cupped hand at Ciel's elbow; a hand smoothed across his brow; a momentary embrace after one of Ciel's nightmares, before Ciel recovers his reason and pushes Sebastian away.

And yet, Sebastian persists - in being conspicuously close, in offering him comfort. It's an animal thing, a deliberate, patronizing, disgustingly Pavlovian tactic, to condition Ciel - _acclimatize_ him - with touch, with harmless, non-sexual touch. With bonding, or the illusion of bonding. With intimacy. There is no living creature that can resist such conditioning. None at all. Sebastian knows that, and uses it, and Ciel, despite the fact that he knows what it's doing to him, lets it happen, anyway. Because it works. Because it _has_ to work. Because Ciel's still human. Because - despite everything - he's alive.

 

* * *

**_.chrysalis._ **

This is how it changes.

Ciel is... not precisely old enough to have developed a sexual impetus of any particular force, but constant physical contact has rendered him vulnerable to it, nonetheless.

Thus, when Sebastian's touches do change, Ciel finds that he has been waiting for them, waiting for _this_  - for the mossy heat of another mouth, the sloping grip of another palm. He's been masterfully primed for sex, for the slow, inescapable, drugging build of it, until he's shivering, sweating, hot and lit from within like a damned clay lamp, his very limbs as sluggish as putty. He's feverish and lumbering and blind, twisting slowly on the sheets like a newborn foal still bloody from the womb, ecstatic with breath and life but still deaf, still _uncomprehending_ of it all.

It's a sort of tender violence, or perhaps a violent tenderness, and it's so different to what coming has ever been like, for him, with - with those men that had - branded him - or any of the - so absolutely different that even thinking of them doesn't nauseate him, right now, because he's too far gone to even recall in completeness what it had been like, with them, save for the sickening lurch of it, the stomach-turning _give_ as if his foot had suddenly broken through a rotten floor and and taken him with it... It's nothing like that. Nothing like that at all.

"Concentrate," says Sebastian, and Ciel growls, because he fucking _is_ \- and Sebastian laughs, and cradles him close, like a child or a precious treasure or a just-caught bird, and his hands close over Ciel like the gentlest _teeth_ , and it's -

"Please," Ciel begs, and almost hates himself for it, because it's the first time he's ever said it and meant it. "Don't - " _stop_ , he means to say, and Sebastian must understand that, he because he doesn't. Stop.

He never stops.

Not even when Ciel wants him to.

* * *

**_.imago._ **

This is how it ends.

It's after another dinner at the Trancy manor, another evening of subtle sparring with words and barely-veiled threats, and when they return, Sebastian lets it slip, as if it's nothing, that Alois's dependency on Claude is a sign of weakness - his own _and_ his demon's, because Claude had failed to cultivate in him the right amount of objectivity, had failed to select a target that would - no pun intended - harden under pressure, not break.

And because Ciel isn't actually a complete fool, he hears what Sebastian's trying to tell him - what he's _been_ trying to tell him, with every kiss and every caress -

Every -

_No._

"You... You made me believe you were in love with me." He refuses to let his voice shake.

"Oh, Ciel," says Sebastian, and he almost sounds disappointed. "I made you believe _you_ were in love with me." He comes up to Ciel and touches him lightly on the shoulder, as if he were a crystal that might crack at a single tap. As if Ciel hasn't already cracked, a cold, jagged fissure fracturing the depths of him. "And you know that. You're better than that. You're better than - "

"Alois?" Ciel's eyes are narrow. 

" _Yes_." It sounds like a hiss, pleased and serpentine.

 _Fuck_ the fruit of knowledge. Just. _Fuck_ it.

So, what, are Sebastian and Claude in some insane, aeons-long rivalry? 'My master's tastier than yours.' That's... utterly ridiculous and yet strangely plausible, if that is apparently what immortal alpha males do when they're tired of size contests. And Alois and Ciel are merely the latest - pawns? Not-so-virgin sacrifices? _Fuck_.

If Ciel didn't know better, he'd think Sebastian and Claude were in love with each other. As much as two demons can be. Or maybe in hate, but isn't that ostensibly the same thing? For their species? Attachment of any kind, greed beyond the devouring. And Sebastian isn't quite greedy for Ciel. Greedy _about_ him, yes. Just as Mr. Gaugin is greedy about his newest race-horse, the one he's sure will secure him his victory.

Proprietary? Yes. Joyful? Certainly.

 _About_ Ciel. Not _for_ him. Or even _of_ him. Not really. That's the distinction. The fine, horrible distinction.

Ciel doesn't say any of that, of course, but Sebastian can probably see it on his face, because his eyes flare in appreciation. In precisely the way they did when Ciel came for him -

And Ciel can't. He can't cope with this.

 _But you will_ , says that mad, dead thing within him, that's been iron-cold since the day his parents burned.

Since then.

And it's a lot like returning to that moment, but without the grief - just the wrench, and then, jarringly, the clarity.

He understands. Finally, he understands.

He still bends over and vomits, though. Into the plush, Persian rug.

And again into the basin, when Sebastian - gently - guides him to it.

As for the hand at his back, it would be a sign of weakness if he fought it, so he... he doesn't shrug it off.

 

* * *

**_.fin._**  
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